


Face of the Moon

by Malind



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Fairy Tale Elements, Fictional Religion & Theology, Incest, Motherhood, Multi, Other, Sexual Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-21
Updated: 2010-04-21
Packaged: 2018-09-19 17:36:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9452552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malind/pseuds/Malind
Summary: For years, a girl struggles to please those around her, though never succeeding, until she realizes at what cost their expectations come. Even then, her fate is forever entwined with the moon's.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For this story, no one has names. It felt felt out of place to give them one.
> 
> This story has six chapters, including the epilogue. There is also an edited version of this story (that changes the ages of the characters to remove the underage aspect, as well as some other differences) that I posted here and took down.
> 
> This contains cousin incest and parent/child incest in the last chapter. Furthermore, there is a good dose of ignoring reality in terms of genetics.

His dance entranced every eye, every mind, and every soul in the hall. The graceful body swayed and twisted amongst the thralls of people clotting nearly every area of stone floor. Some people sat on pillows, some on rugs, on the floor.

The man never spoke. The man never smiled. The man was beautiful. The man was made of stone.

The girl watched him, mesmerized as everyone else in the room. Her body was straight, without shape, proving she was someone too young to consider a mate. She could bear no child yet, and if her father, the man sitting next to her, had his way, she never would. According to him, she was destined to be one of the many priests swaying with the statue's every flex and leap. Their bare breasts and groins followed the movements of their bodies, always a step behind.

Soft ginger eyes pulled away from the men's and women's bodies and refocused on the earthly body before them.

According to all of those around her, this emotionless body, that nonetheless seemed to encase the lusts and desires of everyone around it, was the moon.

The girl wanted to touch him, to see if he was really stone, or liquid, his movement so fluid. No other stone she'd ever seen or touched could move in such ways. And certainly not in that way, as the statue came over top of a woman and pressed down with grace, his eternally erect phallus easing into her. The young girl, as well as the other ones in the room, had seen it before, had seen it many times. The sight didn't shock her. It never had. It was a part of their life, an important part. It brought fertility, or as her father had put it, babies to her people. It stopped them from ceasing to exist. "We don't want that, now do we?" her father had asked so long ago, it seemed.

The woman's body shuttered and she screamed almost as if in pain, but not quite. The people in the room moaned with her, as did her father. She merely sat still, fascinated, wondering when it would happen to her. She knew it would eventually. Everyone did. She was one of the chosen.

Stone twirled and bent until it came to a man, which it took, until the man squirted out a white cream. The gift of the gods, her father called it. It was what created life, with the aid of the moon. Nearly half a dozen young women sprinted from the far walls and knelt next to the young man, scooping up the cream onto their fingers, pressing it into places she'd had yet to explore despite her desire to. The metal contraption around her groin prevented her from even relieving herself without her parents' permission.

The young women quickly left the great hall, never to return. They could now be wed.

The girl frowned after them, watching their giggling, smiling faces. She'd never look like that. She'd only look like the man the stone statue took next. And the woman he took after that. Then again, she really didn't know what the priests did when everyone left. Someday she would.

The moon took several more priests in the same way, ravishing their bodies, making her jealous for more reasons her young mind could really understand. She was stuck in the middle of two worlds. Her youth was the only thing holding her back.

As the ceremony drew to a close, her father leaned over and whispered, "The priests have told me your second trial will be held tomorrow." Ginger eyes leapt up to stare and he smiled. "I didn't want to tell you any sooner. Why would I want to hear the constant inquiries from you all week long? You'll be staying here tonight. And perhaps, unlike last year, you won't be coming back home."

The trial. . . She let the words play in her head as she watched the statue come to rest in the position it was always in when the ceremony began. It stood, reaching to the heavens, as if calling the moon down, attempting to bring it home. Its phallus stood, pointing up in much the same way, forever hard, forever ready. She had once heard a man's whispering joke that surely its cock was pained, but she couldn't see why. Men's hardness only seemed to bring them joy. But then again, she'd never seen the white cream come from its tip. Could it even, she'd wondered. Could that cause pain? Maybe that was why it never seemed happy.

Several priests gathered around her, smiling, looking empty. Her father handed one of the young women the key on a leather cord around his neck. They guided her to the inner chambers of the great stone building. Carefully, they stripped her of her light robe, but left the heavy metal around her hips and groin. One asked if she had to relieve herself. She shook her head, sending long crimson curls swaying.

One thing she'd always noticed, all of the priests had red hair like hers. It seemed to be their marker, although no one had ever said either way and she'd never thought to ask. It was just their way.

A man that appeared ancient to her, as old as her father, pulled her mid-back length hair into a tight bun and put in several leafless twigs into it that poked into her shoulders if she looked up.

She wanted to ask, "Do you like it here? What do you do? What do you eat? Do you go outside? Why do we never see you outside?" And a million more questions, but the time didn't seem appropriate and they had never answered her before.

Before her skin began to chill, they slipped on a more elaborate robe. The heavy threads poked her skin. The embellishments pulled her down to the earth instead of to the heavens, to the moon, where she thought she was supposed to go. Of course, the moon was now down among them. What was left in the sky was only a shell.

Apparently, as she'd heard in stories, before the moon had come down among them, the moon in the sky spoke.

Soft lips kissed her cheeks, shoulders, and hands before they led her to a small room with a table and chairs. Smiling, quiet priests brought her soft fruits, hearty soups, and light wine, until she thought she would burst. After, they led her to the great hall.

The spacious area was barren of people except for them, but quickly they left her as well on a soft pillow in front of the moon. She stared up, in awe of his height and length. All of him seemed stretched out. No man could reach so high for so long. A question had always bothered her that if the moon was truly this stone before her, why would he choose to be so hard when he could appear so soft? She wanted to touch him but it was forbidden for someone who was not a priest.

She whispered under a breath, aware she wasn't supposed to speak in her meditation, "Do you see me?"

The stone remained merely stone.

Trying to keep her eyes on him, searching for any sign of life, the sticks had thoroughly scratched her back by the time the priests came back to relieve her of her watch. They disrobed her, allowed her to relieve herself in a small pot, put her own robe back on, removed the twigs from her hair, and laid her down on a cot in an adjoining room. A younger man tucked her in as her father did with a soft, huge blanket that held her in place. Another young man put a bell onto the table next to her cot and the small parade left her alone. She'd never been further into the building than those four rooms, but she knew surely there was much more to be seen.

She wanted to see the moon again. Ginger eyes stayed open for many hours until they drifted closed, however unwilling.

The morning found her in much the same appearance as her meditation the day before except they had taken the time to add color to her eyes, lips, and cheeks and white powder to her face, neck, and hands. The priests of all ages, all with fiery hair, led her to the statue in the great hall.

An old woman sat on a pillow in front of the moon. The girl lowered herself down onto the pillow next to her. The old woman was one she remembered from the year before. She was the high priest, or at least the highest the girl had ever seen. The outside world remained in the dark about the priests' internal hierarchy. Most of their activities were kept out of sight, not from a need to hide, but rather because there was no real reason to see. The people outside the walls got what they wanted from the priests' ceremonies. Beyond that, the priests were effectively prisoners of their own fate.

A small smile crept onto her artificially pink lips. The old woman patted her hand and focused on the statue. The girl turned her head and looked up. A veined hand pointed to the statue's feet. She shifted her gaze down.

"Move his toe."

Her reaction was the same it had been the year before. She frowned. How could she move something that was stone?

The warm, thin hand patted her small one again. "Move his toe."

The people in the room let her squirm in her discomfort for nearly five minutes before the old woman stood and they collectively sighed, some vocally, some just with their bodies. She knew she had failed again. But how could they every expect her to be able to do such a thing? How could she possibly control the moon?

As they walked back to the changing chambers, there were no whispers of discontentment, no accusing stares, just a complete acceptance that she'd failed them, again.

The years that followed were no better. She failed again and again. The older she grew, the more she realized this would be her fate. Forever testing, forever failing. Never to wed, always to be encased in metal, never to be like all the other young women with free lives who began to marry and have children.

Eventually, by the time she reached the age of seventeen, she couldn't even bear to look at other women. Her jealousy and hatred of her own life ate at her. On her seventeenth birthday, she cut off all of her dark crimson hair, attempting to defy everyone, getting rid of the thing that had cursed her. But she only ended up with a sunburned head, frowning faces, and eventually the hair grew back.

Weeks later, on a steaming hot night, her blankets itched her. Her mind wouldn't allow her to sleep. She could only think of the stone man, eternally erect, only soft and subtle for their pleasure. She had come to realize by then that the only time the statue moved was when it pleased them. She had begun to wonder if it was even the moon at all, but rather her people's creation, something invented merely to give them pleasure and a blessing to get married. The moon was nothing more than a huge plate in the sky. The stars merely dots. The sun seemed to be the only thing that held any true power. The sun brought a blazing light, life, warmth. The sun was hot, the moon only cold. Surely the sun was more important than the moon.

Because of the controversy in her mind, that night, she did something she'd never contemplated before. It was forbidden. It was inconceivable by any person. But that night, she thought it, and the thoughts, the sure actions, made her wonder how she hadn't thought it before, let alone done it.

She pulled the key out of her dresser, unlocked the metal encasing her, letting it rest on the floor, slipped on the darkest robe she had, and stepped out into the night, stalking straight for the temple.

Her fate, not matter how much she wanted to fight it, rested in the great hall. She would find out the truth. She would make him touch her. At the very least, she would finally touch the moon.

 

**Chapter 2: Pierced with Stone**

 

No noise, no breath entered the great hall, except for her own. She felt as if she was trespassing, and she realized she was. Someday, maybe she would be a priest and these walls would be her own. But any outsiders required an escort, to ensure they didn't do anything improper.

"Thank the moon I don't have an escort," she muttered under her breath, despite her internal screaming: Don't do it. Don't do it.

If she'd never entered the place on so many occasions, she probably wouldn't have found the strength, but as it stood, she felt the place owed her something, owed her a life, even if it was one of sexual slavery.

The object of her obsessing, of her people's obsessions, stood as it always did when not in use. Firm, unyielding, forever reaching up, as if to say, "Yes, that's where my home is, I mustn't forget."

Her feet patted stealthily on the marble floor, highly aware of the threat of being caught. Even her breath held when fingers drew close enough to touch the sleek stone. Would he be warm like the sun, like a human touch? Cold like the moon? Her body began to sweat in its anticipation. Her mouth went dry. Her mind grew light and she felt she might feint.

Ginger eye closed. Pale fingers reached out to do the forbidden.

"Help me. Where is my strength?" she mouthed.

Then smoothness. Coolness. The barest hints of dust. Lifelessness.

She laid her hand flat on the moon, and then her other, her fingers curling around carved shoulders. A full grown woman now, taller than most in her village, her eyes opened and she looked straight into the face of the being that was supposed to be her future. Nothing looked back at her. Heavy tears welled up and slipped down her cheeks.

"Can you see me?" Her voice seemed to echo even though it had only been a whisper. "Please?"

Her hot cheek rested against his cool one, hips twisting to move around the phallus at her groin.

"Do you know you're my life?"

When the stone didn't reply, she wanted to pound at its stone chest, but she merely slapped it with her trembling hands.

"They won't let me have one without you."

She bit her bottom lip and sputtered.

"And you don't even care. You don't even know I'm here"

Searching for strength, for reassurance, her body pressed against the smooth, carved body of a man she knew could take her in a way a real man was supposed to, but for some reason, it chose not to.

Tears fell. Her body pressed and gained a rhythm she felt in the pit of her groin. It was a rhythm she'd seen before, knew she wasn't supposed to be experiencing, not until they said she was ready. But she felt so ready. She felt wetness between her legs that nearly matched that coming from her eyes.

"Do you see me?"

She arched her legs apart, parting the layers of her robe, and rocked her hips back and forth, wetting the stone, giving it the barest hints of warmth.

"Do you want me?"

This stone statue had taken so many people, so many people like her, yet it didn't move one bit for her. Delicate, unworked fingers reached down and grabbed the length at the statue's groin and pumped, slowly, as slowly as she'd seen him pump into people. Nothing. She kissed his firm carving of a mouth, put her hand on his shoulder, lifted a leg, and guided herself towards the thing that gave so many people so much pleasure.

The hardness poked, her wetness and its smoothness allowed an easy entrance until it was a short ways inside her. Then she felt a pain. She pressed harder, urgent, wanting it in her, wanting to be done with it and be his. A sweat broke on her. The pain rocked her, but she fought through it. She'd seen people's first times. She's seen the blood. But she also knew the next time, for them, there was only pleasure. The phallus became slicker and she was sure it was because of her own blood. It slid into her, all the way in until she could take no more. She held herself like that, gripping the moon's shoulders, panting, wanting him so bad that she felt she was dying from the ache. She welcomed him, begged for him, in the depths of her mind until it became a chant.

In one moment to the next she was on the floor, tossed like a ragdoll. Her head smacked the stone floor. Another noise pierced her ears, but pain made rational thought unattainable. She lay for several moments in agony before her eyes would focus enough to see her surroundings. Away from the altar, just mere feet from her, lay the moon.

The young woman struggled to her feet, and then froze, taking in the scene. The statue that held no life looked like it was in a full out run, except it was lying on its side and its whole left arm had broken off near the shoulder joint. Her blood dripped onto the floor from the thing between its legs

"Gods. . ."

Footsteps and voices echoed down a hallway. She did the only thing her mind would allow her to do: she ran as if she'd just committed a murder.

 

A short time later, in her room, her gut felt queasy, both from her scandalous penetration and from the moon's very clear rejection.

"He ran away from me. A full out run at that."

She kept expecting loud banging at the door, the priests coming to take the blasphemous woman-child and punish her in a thousand different ways, ways she knew she deserved. She'd killed their god. She'd killed the moon. Or at the very least, maimed him beyond repair.

"And he ran from me," she thought again, a remorseless idea that wouldn't leave her be.

She buried her face in her hands and tried to find a comfortable position on her bed with the metal around her waist. She'd stuck the contraption on the moment she'd cleaned herself off, trying to hide the evidence from not just everyone, but herself as well.

The moon had never run away before. At least not from what she'd seen. The statue had pleasured every single priest who desired him, day after day. Yet he ran from her. Everything her parents had fought to gain for her meant nothing if the god itself didn't even want her.

When the dawn finally came, her mother knocked on her door and she told her she wasn't hungry. It was the same for the rest of the day, until the woman insisted that she couldn't pass up her father's cooking. The young woman ate the least amount she could, slowly at that, before her mother gave up and left her alone with her misery. The days that passed, everything seemed the same. No one pounded on the door, demanding her head on a platter. No one in her household even discussed what had occurred that night. It was like it had never happened. Her father even asked her a few days later if she wanted to attend a ceremony with him. She sensed no treachery, but neither did she accept. She couldn't bear the thought of seeing the moon, broken, running. She knew if she did, she would break down and confess to everyone and she would die.

"Where is my strength?" she asked, certainly not for the first time.

Half way to her eighteenth birthday, she finally gave into her father's beggings to come with him. Her next trial was coming up. Another chance to fail. But always optimistic about her fate, her father wanted her to try.

As they walked into the great hall, for the first time, she begged in her mind, "Don't see me, don't see me."

The moon stood as he always did, whole, as if that night had never happened. Staring at him, she broke a sweat and felt herself go wet, all in the same moment. The extent of her conditioning astounded her. The memory of his hardness, the silky feel of him, and the way he slipped into her. He obviously hadn't wanted it, but she had. She did.

Her father pushed her along and she realized she'd been standing in the entrance way for who knew how long, blocking other people, some with red hair.

The ceremony went as countless others had. The sex, the screams, the appreciative moans, many of which came from her. The moon never looked in her direction, as if it could, a statue having no eyes. Nonetheless, she could sense his awareness, or perhaps it was just her own lust for him.

The moans grew louder. Ginger eyes fluttered shut. She listened for the sounds of him. Listened for his thrusts. Pretended they were in her. She wanted him all in her, to possess her, to know what she felt like in every part of her being. Her body, her mind weighed her down. She wanted to be taken so badly, it hurt.

This time, she was sure she felt him, like wisping vines caressing her mind, and she let him in.

The room silenced. Her eyes flicked open as she tried to catch her heavy breath. The stone had stopped its movements. The faces of the priests meshed in pure concentration. Then as if the silence had never occurred, the moon renewed its thrusts into a middle-aged woman. The moans and screams renewed but never reached quite the same height as before.

Everyone knew something had happened. They just didn't know what.

Ginger eyes stared at the moon, her passion replaced with apprehension which charged her body and mind all the same. The young woman felt as if fate had finally called, but not in the way her family had always hoped.

 

**Chapter 3: Dreamer of Reality**

 

The next day, the afternoon sun beat down on the people gathered to trade, exhibit, and to fall prey to those exhibits. Ragged children danced and flipped for coin for the aging, ever assessing man on the sideline. No one bothered to take note of the long wooden switch in his hand. Their self-inflicted ignorance kept the events amusing, though some enjoyed the lashings as well. Men and women offered their dusty, damp bodies and the wears on their tables. Anger and lust swelled. Civilization hung on the barest thread, but most didn't pay that fact any mind. It was their way of life. To dwell on it would have been counterproductive to their harsh lives.

Her mother hovered along the tables, searching for something unique, something that called to her. It was time they'd spent together from before she remembered, probably even before her first steps.

To enjoy their time together, she did her best to ignore the stares and whispers. The mobs of her people gossiped despite the fact all probably knew her family name. Her kind didn't exist outside of the walls of the temple. The shortness of her crimson hair couldn't hide who she was. Her skin gleamed too fair in the sun. Her form too willowy. Her height reached toward the stars. She was one of the chosen and the chosen never walked among them, not after they left their childhoods behind.

Her mother never betrayed any awareness of the near chaos their presence created, as she picked up a vase and examined it from every angle. She watched the aging woman, a step behind her. Features, like her lips and cheekbones, she knew she could claim as her own. But her mother's blonde hair, her height that barely reached the young woman's chin. . . Her father was similar, blonde despite the growing parade of grey hairs, and short like her mother.

It wasn't the first time she'd questioned who her parents really were. Her mother she couldn't deny, but her father. . . Not that it mattered. It only troubled her because if true, she knew the temple held more right to her than the man who had raised her and that made her weep.

She wondered, not for the first time, why they had stopped with just one child and put all their hopes and dreams into one cursed redhead girl who couldn't measure up. The thought always made her want to curl up and rot away.

Her mother smiled and bartered with the much older woman behind the table. The price they settled on was a little steep but her mother was pleased and that was all that mattered to the young woman. The woman's obliviousness was something that her daughter envied. She wished her own mind could be so still, so sure. Her mother was her lone strength, her rock. . .

Her stomach turned. Had they started at that moment, the temple would have taken the whole afternoon to walk to, but her memories within its stone walls always brought it right to her feet. Had she been on the other side of the world, its towering doors would have been at her back.

"Mother, could you go to the ceremony with us tomorrow night?"

The aging woman pursed her lips for the first time that day, looking up with pure blue eyes. "You know the answer to that. Have I ever come with you a single time? That's your time." She smiled then and turned to the next table. "You don't need your mother's prying eyes with you."

"But I want you to come." Surely the woman could hear the near begging in her voice.

"Women of bearing age aren't allowed to attend, except for the priests. You know this, my love."

"But I can attend."

"And you're a priest."

"No, I'm not."

Her mother turned her head and glowered at her as hints of anger and frustration reared. "No, you're not, but you will be."

"And if I don't ever become one?"

"All the gods that be, you will be one!"

The young woman closed her mouth to any further words. She followed her mother quietly for a few moments, her shadow, then blurted out, "But you still haven't told me -why- women of bearing age can't attend."

She'd been asking questions lately, too many of them for her family's peace of mind. They seemed like logical questions though, ones any adult surely knew the answers to.

The old woman looked like she wanted to cry from her frustration. Silly young woman-child, she could almost hear in her mother's mind. "My dear, no one has the answers for everything, otherwise the world be a rather boring place. The way it is is the way it's been for many, many generations. It's the way it is for a reason."

"But -what- reason?"

Sky blue eyes glared at her and the younger woman looked away, giving up her assault. If her mother knew the reason, surely she would tell her. Maybe she simply didn't know.

Her mother clasped her hand in her sun-heated one and held it as they walked on. "Whatever questions you have, I'm sure they'll all be answered when you became a priest. If you work hard enough, perhaps it'll finally happen this year."

Work hard at what, she wanted to ask, but didn't bother.

After returning home, she rinsed the sweat and grime off from the day's adventure and found refuge in her room. She disrobed down to metal and tried to sleep. When the night finally took her, her dreams were filled with large stomached women, full with their pregnancy, crying and laughing, stone statues that never gave life giving semen, but took little redhead children and fucked and fucked and fucked, manically.

She awoke in the middle of the night, sweating, sickened, and crying. Pale trembling fingers wove through hair that had hardly grown four inches since she'd cut it all off. She sat up, let her feet touch the floor and stared at the key on her nightstand.

Why in the world did she even bother to wear the metal contraption anymore? Habit? Probably. Fear of what was down there and what it could do? Definitely. She'd always known it was something that needed protecting. She now figured she got that knowledge from her parents who probably didn't even know the real reasons behind its tradition. She knew it was so she would never carry a child, but why it was so important that she didn't, she had no clue. Young women her age were getting married and having babies left and right. But she had been singled out, simply because of her appearance.

Tense fingers picked up the key and unlocked it before she could think twice. She stepped out of the device and stared back at it. It seemed so harmless but was so much of who she was. She didn't feel harmless. No, she always felt so hungry and it drove her crazy. Constant never-ending wanting, waiting. . . How long did she have to wait? What pained her so much was that she knew what she was hungry for, what she'd been manipulated through every stage of her life to be hungry for, yet she couldn't have it.

She thought of the moon, the statue waiting in that large room. The thing had a mind, she was convinced of that now. Whose mind it was, she couldn't be sure, but whoever it was, it wanted to be in its position as little as she did.

But maybe, maybe it could learn to want her just a little.

She groaned at her own desperation and confusion. She wanted something so badly that she didn't even want. For the first time, she hated her parents for doing this to her. Her whole life had been what they wanted, what the world wanted to construct for her. She was no freer than the statue in that room.  But at least she could move of her own free will.

The frown hit her face instantly. She remembered the priests faces seared in concentration. The trapped trapping the trapped.

The moon was trapped.

 

**Chapter 4: Indecent Proposals**

 

The young woman stood outside of her parents' bedroom, listening for their breaths, their turns. She wanted to wake them, to seek their comfort, but fear stopped her. If she voiced her thoughts, instead of merely questioning theirs, surely they would have locked her in her room, for forever probably, or at least until she finally earned her place as a priest.

She loved them, and she knew they loved her, but that wasn't enough to face the truth of who she was, what her fate was, and what the world was and was about to become. Fantasies, they kept the world saner, even if they also helped create the insane.

Her feet resisted movement, but she forced them. The chill of the night air goose bumped her skin. Quiet, quick footsteps took her back to the great hall. Deep in the pit of her stomach, she hoped it would be the last time. She hated the place as much as she knew it was her home.

She wanted to free him, to free herself, to free every one of the perversity their ancestors had inflicted on them. But would anyone else actually welcome the freedom?

The moon stood there as it did every other day, whole, like she'd never ravished its stone body. Her feet padded to him, gazing all around her, terrified of unannounced observers. Then, looking up at his beautiful form, she paused and realized she didn't have a clue how to free him. Tears welling, she let her eyes flutter shut and tried to find him, his soul.

Something grazed her mind. It was cool but innocent and needing at the same time. She tried to grab hold of the feeling and it recoiled. Had she tried harder though, she was sure she could have forced him. Ginger eyes blinked and she stared up at the moon.

"No wonder the priests are so cold, so empty. They force you when you only want your freedom. You can't even say no to them, can you?" Her needs and wants suddenly felt petty and she was ashamed. "That's why I could never pass their tests. I never wanted to control you. I just wanted you."

She walked up the altar.

"Everyone's been waiting until I want this life badly enough that I'll just take it by any means necessary." Crimson curls bobbed as she shook her head. "But what a life they want for me."

Her hand caressed a bare chest, much more bravely than she had the first time. She leaned forward and let her head rest against the place a human's ribcage would have been, trying to find some sign of a heartbeat. She lost herself in the chill of him, in the smoothness of stone. She reached out with all she had, lending to his escape, inviting him in.

"If it means anything at all, even if I was never allowed to think any different, you're all I've ever wanted," she murmured.

Like tendrils, a strength crept into her mind. She welcomed it, realizing its presence in the absence of her body's overwhelming desire.

"I want you to be free. I want us both to be." The entwining engraved in her mind and made her breath quicken. "But I don't know how. I don't know if I can break what they've done to you."

The strength of stone touched her lower back and she trembled. The phallus drooped and laid to rest between their legs. To be held like that, by him, it was something she only prayed for before that moment. She wrapped her arms around him and adored the invasion of her mind. It felt so different than her own, so strong, so carefree, like the previous decades had been a mere drop of memory. Or perhaps what she was feeling was hope.

The presence pushed at her own more forcefully than before, and she pulled back and looked at him. She could feel him retreating in her confusion. The stone stiffened and suddenly she realized she was quite trapped in the stone man's arms.

"Wait, wait," she hissed. "I don't know what you want. . . But you can't, I mean, I mean. . ."

The fear, of being conquered by a being she knew nothing about, became all too real. Was that the only way? To allow him to take over her mind? Would that kill her? Or perhaps just merely just kill her mind? Would her mind, her will to live, even allow it if she wanted to?

But the moon hadn't as of yet and hadn't taken over any of the priests. Surely it couldn't do it, even if it wanted to.

She struggled to get free, but couldn't with its arms at her waist. What in the world had she done to herself? Yes, she was a very stupid, silly woman-child.

The woman closed her eyes, swallowed, and attempted to find him with her mind once again. She felt feathery traces of him and tried to pull them back in. When they resisted, she tried to open her mind back up instead. Slowly, hesitantly, his presence returned and the stone arm began to caress her back, seemingly in an attempt to calm her. They both needed some calming, as far as she was concerned and the thought made her snort. Then the smooth motions made her shiver and lose those thoughts.

"You need me so you can move. . . How cruel." She watched his expressionless face. Tears welled up. "What little freedom they give you; I guess I would take it as well. What did they do to you?"

Emotionally and physically exhausted, she shook her head and laid it against his shoulder, breathing against his neck. They remained entwined for many minutes, but it felt like an eternity. Her mind flooded with thoughts and reprimanded her for coming into this situation with far too little knowledge.

"Would you leave this place with me? I don't know where we'd go, but. . ." She knew nothing of the outside world, so protected and cultivated. Where would they go? How would she feed herself? How could she even walk around with a stone man without drawing unwanted attention? If she got hurt, or died even, would he just stop moving? He would be helpless, even more so than he was now. . . She already was. "There must be a way."

It was then that she felt a hand at her stomach. She lifted her head to look at him, trying to understand, understanding all too quickly. Nausea swept her body. Maybe he -could- take over a mind, push it back, even expel it perhaps, if the mind was weak enough. He clearly couldn't do it to her, but with a weaker one. . .

"You want me to become pregnant?" Her voice growled, shocked at the proposition. "Is that why they won't allow women in here? They're afraid you'd take over their babies' souls?!"

Her mind whirled, and she struggled to get away. This stone man was not human. He was the moon and clearly had no understanding of morality, of right and wrong. As their minds broke apart, she found the wiggle room to get free and backed away from him, furious and all too confused.

"If that's what it takes, then you might just have to stay in your hell as I do mine. I'm not a cradle robber, whatever you may think!"

She knew she should keep her voice down, but it was far too difficult. She hated fate. She hated everything her people did, everything everyone wanted her to do and become. It was all far too cruel.

"Do understand, I want to save you, but I won't kill another to do it."

Her simple robe twirled as she turned and stalked from the building, trying to forget his touch both in her mind and on her body but failed miserably. She tried to convince herself: He didn't mean what he'd meant. He wasn't cold and cruel and so selfish that he kill another just to save himself. No one could be that cruel. Not in her simple world. But part of her knew it was all true. He wasn't human and life in stone hadn't changed that in the least, for obvious reasons.

But what if they could do it before a soul joined with the baby. Surely there was a moment, even if a small one, where the baby was conceived, but empty and ready to receive. Still to believe that, she'd have to believe there were souls in the first place. Her mind was completely separate from others. The moon was the only creature she'd been able to meld with. What if it was him and not her? What if he was the one with the soul, some spiritual being that made him so much more than any human? After all, he was a god. Could someone trap her inside of stone? She'd never heard of such a thing.

Her debating only left her more confused. She had no one to turn to for comfort and certainly no one would help her.

The sun began to rise, brightening the sky with hints of purple. Her small cottage came into view along the dirt road. She blinked. She'd left him in a compromising position once again, she realized. How many times could she get away with such a thing before they began to set up guards every night to catch the rogue invading their territory? Did she even want to go back?

Slim fingers tucked crimson curls behind her ear as she caught sight of the moon drifting down into the horizon.

"At one time, long before you were born, the moon spoke." She shook her head. "He must be insane by now. At least, I would be."

Her next trial came up all too quickly. Her father and mother were ecstatic, despite her many years of failure. They always hoped. They always wanted something better. Just like she did. They stood outside of their cozy home and waved to her, calling out how proud they were, how she would prove she could do it. She smiled weakly with a wave and started off by herself to the temple.

She hadn't been there for weeks, not since her second late night rendezvous with the moon. Her heart couldn't bear to see him any longer, not when she knew the truth of so many things that frightened her.

But now she knew her fate, she'd decided her fate, however much of a monster it made her, and she was determined to see it through. Nonetheless, as fate was never one's choice, she also knew, whatever happened, her fate would happen whether she welcomed it or rebelled against it.

When she entered the great hall, the young woman refused to allow her eyes to be drawn towards him and made an immediate exit into the changing room. She dressed herself, as she'd been doing for years, partially because she was just plain old enough to, but also to hide the fact she no long wore her chastity belt. Quick fingers tied the cloth at her waist as she felt eyes on her back. She turned around, smiled, and was vaguely pleased when several weak smiles answered. They expected her to fail again. For the first time, she wasn't going to, no matter what piece of her soul it ripped out of her.

She went through the same meditation and was told her trial would begin the next day. Through the whole thing, she never looked up, kept her mind closed, unable to bear even the thought of what surely churned inside of the stone.

The next day, she took her place next to the old lady she'd been sitting by for the previous six years.

With a light pat to her hand, the woman urged, "Move his toe."

Ginger eyes closed for a moment as she gritted her teeth. She pulled him in against his will, manipulating the ancient magic how its creators had intended it to be. It was disgustingly simple. The toe moved. What they didn't see was the blood that pooled in her palms from her fingernails. She could feel his horror all over inside of herself. It almost made her wretch.

She heard the glow of approval drip from her companions' lips. She wanted to run, to beg for mercy.

The old woman must have seen the stiffness of her body though. "Relax and let your desires be known. The moon will follow them all." The woman's dry hand squeezed her wet one. "Now, bring him forward a step."

The solid thump announced the compliance. She shoved away the feelings of pain he attempted to swell in her. Were all of them totally blind to how much he fought or did he only fight her so harshly?

"Yes, yes, good, my dear." The woman smiled and patted her hand again. "We will practice every day, and I'm sure someday soon you will be joining us in our ceremonies. Your family will be most pleased."

The young woman smiled briefly and hoped it didn't appear too much like a cringe.

The priests escorted her back to the changing room, where she washed her hands and quickly changed back into her robe, but wished she could take a long bath to wash off the horrible feeling that ate at her insides. A young man arrived a few minutes later and led her into the back halls, places she'd never been before. He was an attractive young man, one that surely had come from one of the out-skirting villages. She recognized no features on his face.

She needed some male. It really didn't matter who, merely someone close at hand. She decided he would do.

Having never flirted in her life, she attempted a smile she'd seen on the prostitutes in the town square. She was sure it was hideous, but the man smiled back, though much more shyly than her. When she bit her bottom lip, he blushed. That was easy enough.

She'd found her mark.

 

**Chapter 5: Resetting the Trap**

 

The young man smiled at her from across the table. When she noticed, she returned it, teeth and all, but quickly turned her attention to the woman flicking at her potato on her plate who was far more interesting. She hadn't expected her infantile flirtations to turn into a full out stalking of her body.

Were all men so controlled by their lusts?

She swallowed the tough meat she'd been chewing for the last three minutes and decided that she was one to think such things. Everyone in the room, seemingly in the world, was controlled by their wants, and to think she was any better, she would have been lying.

The middle-aged man at the head of the table cleared his throat. "Today, our new arrival will be participating in her first ceremony tonight."

All eyes turned to her, some smiling, others neutral or curious, and she was glad she'd just swallowed or she probably would have choked. She no longer wore the metal contraption at her groin and could do so freely. It wasn't expected within these walls. But at the same time, she was still supposed to be a virgin. These people were expecting to see blood.

She did her best to smile, avoiding eye contact with her stalker. He would be there to watch and participate, if he chose to.

"The moon will be most pleased."

Delirious laughter bubbled out of her before she could stop it. If anyone hadn't been looking, they certainly were now. They had no idea how the previous week had left her soul torn to pieces. She'd done everything, excelled at their every wish and forced the moon to do their every desire. She needed it to be done quickly, to advance, before she stabbed herself in the chest. They all presumably chalked it up to her age, as she was far too old to be at the beginnings of her life among them.

When the staring continued, she cleared own her throat. "I'm blessed. Thank you."

The elder nodded, but continued the stare as he took the conversation in other directions. She'd almost thought she'd gotten away with it, but as they cleared their plates, she felt a presence behind her.

"My dear, if you could, I would like to speak to you about your participation tonight. If you could come with me?"

It was asked, but she knew she didn't have a choice. The man took the plate and glass from her hands, giving it to another priest to take for her, and turned, apparently assured she would follow.

They walked into the ceilingless garden near the center of the compound. The sun warmed her shoulders and head as she sat down next to him on a stone bench. It was one of the few places they could experience the outdoors and she soaked the fresh air and warmth into her chilled body.

The man smiled at her, then looked to the heavens. "I do understand one's first time can be. . . intimidating, but when virginity is lost with the moon, it is a blessing to all of us. Do you understand, my dear?"

The young woman nodded weakly. This much of an advancement, she hadn't been expecting at all. She'd figured it would take at least a month to participate in their ceremonies, lest she embarrass them. Nonetheless, she'd wanted to gain their trust and the young man's trust as soon as humanly possible. Apparently she was far too good for her own good.

Could she stop it from happening? Was her only choice to admit she was no longer a virgin? Could she disguise her loss in some way? Maybe a prick or laceration that would start to bleed? The thought of doing such a thing to herself made her queasy. And what if she cut too deep?

She realized the older man was watching her and she looked away. "Sir, I must confess something. . ."

The air suddenly chilled, and she knew what he was thinking: No childbearing women were allowed into the compound. The man sat, tense, waiting for her blasphemy.

She cleared her throat again and looked at him. "Please understand. . . It wasn't with a man. . . Rather a woman. A woman I knew in the village. She. . . she stuck a, a, vegetable inside of me and took my virginity!" The young woman didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the false admission. "I couldn't say no to her. She did it to me in my youth."

The man furrowed his brow at her. "But your chastity belt? Surely that would have protected you from such an assault."

"Yes, but she was my watcher while my parents were away. She had the key, and, and, her husband had passed away. . . She took what was mine, yes, but she was gentle and concerned. I think she was only lonely. Please forgive her!" She wanted to shut up so badly. If the man had bothered even for a moment to check out the story, it would have unraveled so quickly she would have been hanging from her toes to accept their wrath in one moment to the next.

For a few agonizing moments, the chill continued but then cleared as the man sighed. "I do understand, and it's unfortunate something so beautiful was taken from someone so pure."

She turned her head away, truly embarrassed with her false admission.

"If you would prefer, we could have your first time take place behind closed doors. There may be rumors and those who question, but for you, that might be better than the alternative."

The weight of the world felt like it lifted off of her. "Yes, please, I would be so grateful!"

Another smile graced his pale skin. "Very well then. Perhaps we should begin your introduction immediately, as the ceremony tonight still must commence."

That took the breath out of her. And made her insides twist and grow wet despite knowing she would have to force the moon as she had every day for the past week. She wanted to make an excuse. Surely there was some excuse that could get her out of it.

Absorbed in her thoughts, she didn't realize her companion had already walked away. When she turned her head again not even a minute later, a priest walked towards her and asked her to come with her. Her body complied, however unwilling her mind was.

The small entourage of men and women stripped her down and placed her in a stone tub. A redhead girl of no more than thirteen washed her arms, neck, back, breasts, and finally her legs with minimal urging. She complied, lost in her own thoughts and terrors and desires. The girl asked her to stand and she did. The young woman blushed when her groin area was also thoroughly cleansed. They stepped her out, perfumed her body with the scent of the garden's flowers. A few mumbled about the length of her hair, but there was nothing that could be done about that. They left it alone and merely tied strips of cloth at her breasts, groin, and ankles.

The young girl, a few inches shorter than herself, pulled her down and kissed her cheek, whispering to be happy as there was nothing to fear.

But there was so much to fear.

Nevertheless, she smiled, her eyes to the floor, and followed her companions to the great hall. They left her there with the older man who had talked to her earlier. He walked up to her, clasped her hand, and led her to stand in front of the moon.

"This is your child. One of your chosen. She comes before you, meek, and forever your servant."

Sweat dampened her skin while her insides twisted. Surely she wetted her companion's hand. He led her to the down-filled but thin mattress that had been laid out for her.

As he laid her down, he whispered. "Relax, my love. The moon will only be as gentle and as rough as you desire him to be. Remember, he wants to please you as you please him."

She really wanted to laugh. Hard. Maybe the laughing, if she laughed long and hard enough, she'd run out of air and pass out. . . Or even better, die.

When nothing happened, the man urged, "Call the moon to you."

Her head rolled to her right and she looked up at the moon. She wanted to tell him she was sorry. She wanted to beg for his forgiveness for everything she'd done to him. She opened her mind, but the moon's came nowhere near hers, so she pulled and he fought. Surely it knew what was about to happen. The statue walked to her, far less gracefully than the priests who controlled him with so many years of experience. But he walked and he hated her.

When he stood at her feet, she opened her legs and the moon came between them, resting his hands by her shoulders. Slowly, he entered her and she closed her eyes tight. She fled him but compelled him all in the same breath. The phallus rocked in and out of her, her mind, her desire, giving it its rhythm.

Several minutes passed before she realized she felt nothing but agony in her body and mind. Her screams of pleasure would never echo in the stone room. She realized she would have to fake it to end this farce. So she moaned as she'd heard so many others do. She panted. She rocked her body. And soon, she let out all of her pent up horror and screamed.

When she finished, the room was completely silent. The man near her only stared. She swallowed and pushed the moon away with her mind.

She wanted to say to him, "There, are you pleased?" But she only stayed silent. The man left and two priests came to take her to clean her off, as another stayed behind to care for the moon. They brought her to her room and she stared at the ceiling for many hours before her mind stilled enough to allow sleep.

Two nights later, when the halls and rooms were silent, she stood in front of the moon. The god's soul kept away from her, more enraged than scared. Ginger eyes stared up, not really looking. She knew his every shape and curve. She'd watched him, envisioned him, dreamt about him, ever since she was a child.

Her weighted feet brought her slowly to stand in front of him, and she whispered, "I know you don't love me. I don't think you ever could. And I suppose I don't love you either. I know nothing about you. . ." A smile touched her lips, sad, regretful. "And I know you don't want to know anything about me anymore. But I came here for you. And if you allow me, I will apologize a thousand times over, for the rest of my life, for what I've done."

Nothing touched her mind, despite her openness, but she was sure he listened.

"I'm doing this all for you, for both of us, for everyone, even if they don't want it. So you must help me or I'll fail."

Her small hand reached up and gripped his outstretched arm. "Please, you must tell me if I can conceive."

Nothing.

"You know I could walk way. I'll have to anyway, if we do this. You do understand? I'm giving you a way out, but you have to take it. . ."

Her hand dropped to the statue's stone chest.

"You have no idea how much I want to walk away. But also know that I will hate myself for the rest of my life because I don't know what this all means and I'm going to do it anyway. And there's always the chance that I've killed my child. You want to make me a murderer. . . And I will willingly become one, if it stops all of this."

The moon made no connection and it brought tears to her eyes. "My god, my moon, do you understand?"

Ginger eyes closed and tears fell. "Do you know what's so sad and pathetic? I miss your touch; I want it so much, even if you don't care for me."

Hints of him twined into her mind. Tears flooded from her eyes and she collapsed against him. The statue's arms moved slowly at first, but then more sure. A hand came to rest on her stomach and she sighed.

Her body pressed against him.

"I know you don't love me. . ."

A wealth of him flooded into her mind and she let it flow in like a river. Her tears wet him and made stone slick. The limb stayed at her belly for many long moments before it slipped lower. The moon edged open her robe and glided his finger between her lips. She gasped and encircled his shouldered with her arms, trying to find support for her weakening knees. She rocked against his small movements. Her wetness and heat perfumed the air.

"Do you know what you do to me? Do you understand at all?"

He put his hand behind her knee, lifted her leg, and entered her in one fluid motion. She held him tight as he rocked into her again and again. She kissed him, although he couldn't kiss back.

"I love you. I love you and I'm so sorry for what I've done," she sobbed against his neck.

Her canal throbbed, squeezing the phallus inside of it over and over again, as she came hard and fast.

She stood panting, wet all over her body. He stayed inside of her body, feeling her mind with his own, pushing and pulling, but he could never take it into his own. She smiled, realizing what the moon was trying to do. "As if I could have the mind of a god."

Minutes later, her breath calming, ginger eyes edged opened and she watched his expressionless face. After a moment, the stone phallus came out of her and curved down to rest between their bodies, and he released her leg. She kissed him again, unable to help herself. Feelings flooded her, flourished, and she wasn't really sure which were her own and which were the moon's. "If I take a man now, will I conceive? I know it must be my time. My last cycle was two weeks ago."

The stone man felt her stomach once again. The moment stretched. She frowned, beginning to feel like he had been stalling or attempting to distract her.

"Why won't you tell me? I thought this was what you wanted."

He drew close to her and she stared at the moon's blank face. She kissed him. His mind twisted with her own.

"Are you scared to be human?"

She knew he couldn't answer her even if he'd wanted to, so she urged, "I want you to come with me to my room. There's a boy there who's quite drunk. He won't even know what happened. If we hurry. . ."

The moon was motionless. She pushed at him, although they remained entwined.

"Please. I'll do this for you."

Slowly, she pulled away and began to walk and then, to her relief, the stone man followed suit. She took his chilled hand.

"Come with me."

In the middle of the night, the two made their way to her room. She made sure the pace was slow to quiet both of their footsteps, his a lot more difficult to mask. They entered her room without incident and once again she could breath.

The young priest lay on her bed, sprawled out as she'd left him. She let go of the moon and moved to the man on the bed. Quick fingers worked at his cock, bringing hardness to it and making the man stir. When he began to protest, she hushed him and mounted him without hesitation. Still wet from before, he slid in without resistance and his head rolled back. She set a pace quickly, doing her best to work the cum out of him.

"We can't do this. . . We're not supposed to-"

She hushed him again with a deep kiss. It took several minutes, as drunk as the young man was, but soon an emotionless orgasm trembled his body and forced a ragged moan out of him. She pulled off of him and lay next to him. He stared at her, clearly baffled, but the orgasm and beer worked their magic. He went back to sleep against her shoulder, never knowing one of their gods had been watching the whole event from the far wall.

"Come closer. Do you feel it?"

The moon moved next to her, came down on its knees, and rested his hand on her belly. As the minutes, then an hour passed, the hand grew warmer. She watched him, her breathing rhythmic. Two hours later, the night getting dangerously close to dawn, his hand shifted slightly, and she blinked. The connection between them was gone in an instant, leaving a stone pillar at her bedside.

At first, she didn't know what to do. She hadn't truly thought past that part. Her lithe hand rested on top of the statue's, trying to feel what he'd felt, trying to feel him. But there was nothing. Panic began to set in. Had it worked? Did she have a child inside of her? She truly didn't know. But due to the fact that the rock beside her was nothing more than that, she decided it was better safe than sorry. She eased out from underneath him, careful to avoid waking the drunken man beside her, then slipped on her old robe and out the door.

The first edges of the morning sun greeted her back as she trotted down the dirt road, having no idea in the world where she was headed. At least she hadn't told him that part of the plan, not that she could have because there was none.

 

**Chapter 6: Epilogue: The Beginning and End**

 

The young woman fled for days, her feet bruised and bleeding, offering her help and her body if necessary for anything anyone was willing to give. She'd sneaked into her family's home, stealing a few belongings and food she could easily carry, including a piece of cloth to cover her tattletale crimson hair. Her family never knew of her presence, still peacefully in bed. But those provisions hadn't lasted long.

Eventually the towns and villages became unfamiliar, having names she'd never heard of. The people though, a calmness grew in them, a peacefulness her own never seemed capable of possessing. They expected little, believed in earning one's way. Eventually they seemed little interested in taking anything from her. Some even gave freely.

Soon, even though she knew she should be cautious, she slowed down to really watch those around her. No one obsessed over the moon. The god was nearly non-existent from any conversation. She supposed it should have been expected, as most probably had never attended a ceremony in their lives, but she didn't expect that most barely even gave the god any thought. No one seemed to need him. Any gossip of the god's demise failed to reach where she was. If mobs of people were pursuing her, she didn't have a clue.

Suddenly the world had become a much larger place.

By that time, she almost never thought of what could be inside of her belly. She felt no presence in her mind anymore, despite how she'd opened it, begging for any sign the moon was still with her, seeking his strength and comfort. She had begun to wonder if he'd failed and left the world behind him, finding his freedom, and sparing her any guilt. But every night when she looked to the sky, the moon never spoke. Maybe the god had perished. She truly didn't know and the lack of knowledge made her empty.

A lone inn stood alongside the road. Her stomach growled from the sight of it. Feet padded towards it, weaving around other travelers. When she entered the main hall, smoke and alcohol invaded her nose. A few people looked in her direction, but all turned back to their business. A dirty vagrant girl held little interest for them. Ginger eyes looked around and settled on the bulky woman behind a counter, moving freshly washed plates and cups to a tray.

"Excuse me, my lady?"

The aging woman straightened and eyed her, clearly aware she had no money on her person.

The young woman put on her best smile and hoped it showed through the dirt on her face. "I would like to offer my help for any spare food or drink you might have."

A smile greeted her own. "Of course. We could always use some help around here. As much as I hate to admit it, the old man and I are getting too old to run the place ourselves. Follow me and I'll show you to some more dishes that need washing."

She followed and what was one night turned into a week, then a month. The work was difficult, but soon she grew used to it and was happy to help. It saved her from the loneliness of endless walking. The couple even gave her a small amount of coin every week to spend on whatever she wished.

Watching the old man and woman together, it made her miss her own family, but she tried not to think too much about them. She left those thoughts for the nights when she cried herself to sleep on the cot in the small spare bedroom.

She'd almost become settled in her little life when the old woman brought her a small bottle.

"I picked this up from our local seamstress today. I thought. . . Although I do adore a bit of red in here, I thought maybe you could use a change."

It was a small bottle of black dye. Her face blanched to a painful white. Neither said anything further. The woman led her to the bathroom and meticulously turned her crimson into a midnight black. It didn't take all that long, as her hair was still rather short. When she looked in the mirror, she still saw herself, but maybe no one else would.

"I think it's time we got you some new dresses too. Those robes of yours are getting tattered."

Ginger eyes studied green ones, and the young women realized she'd never known before what being grateful felt like. She smiled and wanted to hug her. Instead she merely blinked away tears. "I'll work night and day to pay off every thread."

The inn's mistress smiled and took her hand, patting it soundly. "No need. You do more than enough around here already. We owe you. Besides, we're just sitting on any money we make. We don't need much and don't go much of anywhere with this place to run."

The young women with the raven hair gripped the hands in her own. "I owe you my life and everything in it."

"Then it's a good thing we don't need anything," the old woman laughed.

Later that day, she had a small collection of simple dresses and no longer felt anything like a priest.

As the months passed, her growing belly brought some raised eye brows, but a whole bunch of attention from her two surrogate parents. New, less formfitting dresses were purchased. The elderly husband made her a small cradle to put alongside of her bed. Neither asked how she had conceived, perhaps waiting for her to fess up the information. She never did. She couldn't lest it curse her in their eyes. She wanted their approval, flourished in it, and was again grateful when they didn't pry.

The night she gave birth, she was terrified of not only the pain, but also of what would come out of her. But the choice wasn't her own. She pushed, and screamed, and attempted to do everything the midwife asked of her. A few hours later, the midwife placed a small bundle in her arms and she looked down into ginger eyes and cried. The baby hadn't cried, only coughed, but she did.

When the baby wouldn't take to her breast, they thought he might not make it. The child was small, pale, and never cried. The young woman cried and begged so much they wanted to take the child from her. They whispered that he was too meek, that his will to live wasn't there, that he wouldn't survive. That she should let him go.

But they didn't understand why she cried so harshly, they couldn't, nor could they understand why the baby merely watched her in her fits.

When they had given up and left her alone, assuming she would let go when she was ready, she caressed his small face. The child blinked at her.

"Is this what you wanted?" More tears fell. "Was there any point to any of this?" She gripped him tighter and the baby frowned. Anger and distress swelled in her. "Do you always give up so easily? No wondered they trapped you. I'm sure you were easy prey." When the baby's eyes closed, she whispered, "Please. . . please don't leave me. To leave me now. . . it's not fair. Have you no love for me at all? For this life I've given you? If you didn't want it, then why take it?"

She didn't know if he understood, if he cared. She let her fingers caress his blanketed body, his face, knowing him while she had the chance. Tears wet her face and his blanket.

After nearly an hour, she offered her bare breast again, rubbing it against his cheek, his lips, begging him to eat. She squeezed it, forcing some liquid to come out, wetting his lips with it. A small tongue appeared to lick up the substance and his eyes opened.

"Please eat."

When the baby took her nipple into his mouth and suckled, she burst out crying. Her child startled momentarily, but then continued to feed, each suck growing stronger.

As he grew, everyone noticed that he never cried. Most thought it was a blessing, but some thought it rather odd. That wasn't so much because of the crying but because he never smiled either, never laughed, never seemed pleased to see any of them, never cooed or spoke. He only watched his mother, rolling over too soon, sitting up too soon, walking when he was only seven months.

His raven-haired mother paid his oddness no heed. She said her experience with children had been limited growing up, when asked. She only cheered him on when he accomplished some feat he seemed overly frustrated to achieve, as if he thought he should have been doing it a month before.

When his mother worked, he sat and watched her, carefully observing, and only began to help her when she encouraged him, but then helped her freely every day after.

His fifth birthday arrived and he still hadn't spoken a word. Most assumed he was feeble minded. It was no surprise as his mother had no husband and had probably become pregnant through prostitution. Surely her smarts were lacking as well.

The mistress of the house passed away in her sleep soon after, leaving much of the small town in tears. The young woman had never had someone so close die before and she took it harshly, smiling little, crying in her room. Her small son stayed by her side, sat in her lap and hugged her as she hugged him. When they laid down in their bed for the night, they sought each other's warmth, her body spooning his. As sleep was about to take her, she heard a voice.

"I've lived for so long. . . I'm beginning to wonder, if this life you've given me. . . Will I cease to exist after this body dies? I can't leave it, as I left my stone one. I've tried. . . At one time, I even wanted to die, but you wouldn't let me. I couldn't when you. . . Do you find it odd for the moon to contemplate its own death?"

She could hear the boy's smile as he spoke the last words and gripped him tighter. Those were no words a mother wanted to hear from her child's mouth, especially not his first.

"When I look up now, when I look around, I don't think people even remember the moon spoke. I don't believe they miss me."

Tears came to her eyes. "No, I don't believe they remember you."

They remained silent for many minutes, before he asked, "Will you cry for me, if I die?"

A half laugh burst out of her. "Of course I will. You are my life."

"And you are mine."

Tears flooded out of her and left her unable to speak. She held the boy tighter, making it difficult for them both to breath. He stroked her arm until she relaxed.

"Do you know, my first dreams were of you. . . because of you? Before you, I never slept. Now I'm afraid to."

The woman kissed the back of his head and sighed at the scent of his hair. "I'm afraid as well, if it means anything."

"It does."

Their life continued on, quietly, simple. Eventually, when the man of the inn passed away as well, the inn became her own. By then, the people of the town were used to the smiling woman and the quiet boy. No one came to their doorstep, accusing, bringing to light who they truly were.

When the boy reached his teens, he was beautiful as his mother and father, fair skinned with a fire of red hair he wore past his shoulders. He had no shortage of admirers despite his oddities. The realization created a sorrow in her. Part of her distressed that he was growing up. She feared one day he would leave her. She knew such a thing was part of life, losing her son to another woman, but the difference no one else knew was that she'd loved him even before he was her son.

Ginger eyes darted away when two giggling girls attempted to converse with her son as they walked the street market. Her hired help was attending to the inn in their absence. He merely smiled and went back to picking out some ripened fruit. She hated to call what was inside of her jealousy, but it was.

When they arrived at the inn, she excused herself and went to her room to change. They had taken up separate rooms years before, out of decency, but she still found her bed cold without him. Midway through, she decided on a bath instead.

Her body continuously soaked up the warmth when she heard a light knock on the door.

"Yes," she asked.

The door opened and her son entered. He hadn't seen her in such a state for years, no one had, and she sought to cover herself, but there was no way without getting out of the tub.

The young man stepped behind her and knelt down onto the floor. He picked up the rag on the edge of the tub and urged her forward. She complied, though hesitantly.

Silence made ever splash and movement amplified.

She almost jumped when he broke the silence with, "Does it bother you when women talk to me?"

Her first reaction was to laugh and say, "Don't be absurd." Instead, she almost burst into tears. When she could contain herself, she murmured, "No, it's only right you have your own life. Otherwise, why go through all the pains of living?"

The room went completely silent.

"But what if it's you I want to share my life with, however short or long it may be?"

She did cry then, silent tears that slipped down her cheeks. He kissed her shoulder and she pulled away from him, her breath quickening. She didn't feel as if she could live through such torture. Why was he doing this to her?

The room went silent again, but she now heard his heavy breath as well. Nearly a minute later, he whispered, "I understand now why you desired me so much. This feeling inside of me. . . it makes me want you."

Her breath choked inside of her. "Please, don't do this to me."

"My love, my life, you must know that morals don't belong to the moon. I understand human's morality. I've watched them force them and contradict them throughout countless generations. No matter what we do here, I guarantee, life will go on for the rest of them. But for us. . . I don't know how much time we have. And I'm tired of waiting."

"The moon tired of waiting?" She half-laughed at the idea. "Isn't that all you ever do?"

"When I was eternal, yes. But now. . ."

The moon reached out to touch her shoulder. When she didn't pull away, he half-sighed, half-groaned. Gently, he urged her to rest back against the tub. His face next to her neck, so he could breathe in the scent of her, he ran the cloth over her shoulders, across her breasts. His other hand came to cup one, lightly twisting her nipple, as he kissed her cheek. She turned her head and kissed him, moaning into his mouth.

He stood and pulled her hands until she stood as well, naked in front of him. Pale fingers combed through her long wet raven hair. "I miss your red hair."

She smiled. "I could let it grow back."

"I would like that." His thick hand pulled on her thin one until she stepped out of the tub. He pressed against her, his obvious passion against her leg but still inside his trousers.

Heat flooded her and she felt weak. Her insides only became wetter. He wrapped a towel around her and led her to his room. The door closed behind them, she blushed when he turned around and studied her.

His teeth showed with a grin at her meekness. "I remember you being so much more forceful."

A laugh burst out of her and she blushed further. "Dare I say, it's been a long, long time. . ."

"For me as well. Although it never felt like this."

Cautiously, watching his face, she worked to undo his pants, which then fell to the floor. He pulled off his shirt and tossed it to the side. After a tug, her towel came loose which he tossed as well.

She kissed him, hungry, wanting him so badly, despite the knowledge that they shouldn't be doing this. Her arms wrapped around him and she walked backwards to the bed, pulling him with her. She lay on the bed and he rested between her spread legs, positioning himself at her entrance. As wet as she was, when he slid into her, they both moaned. He gripped the back of her neck and forced a kiss upon her mouth, licking her, biting her lip. When she struggled to rock her hips against him, he began to move his own, slowly, lest he come too quickly. Every movement threatened an explosion for them both. Helplessly, his thrusts became more forceful. They moaned with each one. It was happening too quickly.

Trying to restrain himself, he pulled back to look at her. Her pale face was flushed, her eyes lidded, her breath heavy. He whispered, "I've always loved you. Even when I didn't really know what love is."

She pulled him down again, biting and licking his neck, telling him she loved him over and over and over again. When he felt her insides clamping against his cock, he couldn't contain himself any longer. He pressed into her several times, and came into her, hard, giving everything he had to her. When he could no longer hold himself up, he laid against her side, curled up over her body, so she couldn't move away. Not that she wanted to.

The years that followed brought a child between them and then another before she could bear no more from age. The people that questioned where the children came from never said anything directly to their faces.

He never married and eventually she passed away from old age. Not long after, he did as well, from sorrow. Their children continued their lives for them.

And then the moon spoke.


End file.
